Visiting the Grave
by Charmina
Summary: “I’m such a wimp. It’s been two years and I still can’t come here without starting to cry,” he wiped of his face again and then looked down on the ground. “But I just miss you so damn much.” Oneshot


Disclaimer Harry Potter and co are owned by J.K Rowling, I'm just playing around with them a little.

Author Notes This is an angsty little one-shot that shouldn't be read by those that don't want to read about the tragic parts of life. That's all the warning you will get because I don't want to spoil it for those that want to read it. But you have been warned... Thank you to Sara who beta read this for me!

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_Some people are just born with tragedy in their blood. – Gretchen, Donnie Darko_

**Visiting the Grave**

The rain was pouring down over the graveyard and not the slightest breath of wind rocked the trees. The graveyard was empty, not a living soul in sight, which wasn't very rare. Not many people visited this part of it since this was the place for criminals, orphans and all others that didn't belonged to a family. This part was for the disowned.

But the stillness was disturbed as a man came walking in through the gates. He made his way slowly towards one of the graves but the way he walked showed that he had been here many times before and that he knew exactly where he was going. The man was dressed in black robes and his long hair fell onto his face; soaked with the rain. He stood straight and had the aura of someone you wouldn't want to mess with, which is until you saw his eyes. They were hollow, empty, and even if the rain did a good job of hiding it you could still see the tears that fell down his face.

"I miss you," he whispered softly, still not tearing his eyes away from the tombstone. "I hope you know that."

He reached out with his hand and gently touched the stone with his fingers. A sob slipped out of him and he pulled his hand away again to wipe the tears of his face.

"I'm such a wimp. It's been two years and I still can't come here without starting to cry," he wiped of his face again and then looked down on the ground. "But I just miss you so damn much."

Everything was still for several minutes as the man continued to stare at the ground and got lost in his thoughts. Thoughts of what was and what could have been. Suddenly he looked up at the tombstone again and anger flashed over his eyes as he kicked the stone with all his might. The stone didn't give away but neither did the man. He didn't show any sign that it had hurt.

"Why?" he screamed. "Why did you leave me? Didn't you know how much I needed you?" Tears flowed down his cheeks in a seemingly endless stream. "I loved you, God damn it!"

The anger visibly fell of him with the tears and he fell to his knees in front of the grave, his head bowed low and hands digging into the ground as if he was trying to hold on for dear life. Sobs raked his body as he sat in the empty graveyard, hidden away from the world and for once able to let his defences fall.

After several long moments, the sobs slowly ebbed away.

"I did it," he whispered without looking up. "After all these years I finally did it."

He looked up and let his fingers trace the name engraved on the stone. "Are you proud of me now?" He looked at the stone in question with his head cocked a little to the side. "I did what everyone wanted me to do, what they expected me to do. What everyone died for. I killed the bastard."

He stared at the stone as if expecting an answer or reaction, but the graveyard stayed still and he let out a heavy sigh. "Are you proud of a murderer?" A sob escaped him again and he slammed his hand on the ground in frustration. Once again he became lost in bewildering thoughts, as the rain fell down on him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered after a while, then he sighed and looked up again. "I'm sorry," he said a little louder. "If it hadn't been for me you would still be alive. You wouldn't be dead." He lowered his head again. "You wouldn't have left me," he whispered. "I'm so sorry," he cried and the tears fell with new-born strength down his cheeks.

A soft breeze flew over the still graveyard, between the stones and past the man. He closed his eyes and turned his face towards the sky and let the rain wash away the tears.

"Did you know I loved you?" he asked without opening his eyes or turning his face down. "Did you know what you meant to me? Did you know what your death could do to me?" he opened his eyes and stared up at the sky. "Did you know it hurt so much I could hardly breathe?" he whispered and looked down on the stone in front of him. "Did you know that I hated you?"

"I hated you for being so careless, for not listening to Dumbledore and for putting your life at risk," he said as his eyes stared a head of him, not seeing the stone but something that wasn't there anymore, something far away. "I hated you for caring more about me then you did for yourself, for not understanding what you meant to me, but most of all I hated you for leaving." The tears fell down his cheeks but he didn't notice; he just stared at that something that he could never see again.

"I was so lost. I didn't know what to do anymore. You were gone and left me behind with a burden I couldn't hold." His eyes went into focus again as he looked at the engraved name. "Dumbledore never told you, did he? I know he didn't because if he had then you would have told me. Even if you knew it would hurt." A strained chuckle came from the man before his face went serious again. "For a while I thought you died because you knew about it, that you sacrificed yourself for everyone else. But you didn't. You sacrificed yourself for me. You came for me," he finished in a whisper as the tears continued to roll down his cheeks.

The graveyard was still as the man cried in silence for everything that he once had and then lost, as he cried for everything that had been. As he cried for everything that would never be. The rain fell gently on the ground as if it didn't want to disturb him in his grief and instead tried to comfort him, stroking his hair and cheeks, shoulders and arms.

After what could have been an eternity or only a minute he looked up again. "I don't want this anymore," he said in a clear voice. "I've done what I've had to do, what everyone needed me to do. Now it's time that I get what I want. There's no reason for me to stay any longer."

He reached into a pocket and took out a small but sharp knife and held it out in front of him. "I don't want to be alone any more," he whispered as he looked at it.

He rolled up the arms of his robe, exposing the white skin to the rain. There were several scars all over his arms, verticals and diagonals, short ones and longs ones, old ones and new ones. He followed the path of his scars with his eyes as he whispered, "I miss you. I miss mum and dad, I miss Remus and Dumbledore, Arthur, Charlie, Ginny, Dobby, Neville, Hagrid, McGonagall, Cedric, Kingsley, Mad-Eye, heck, I even miss Snape and Draco."

He sat in silence for a few minutes thinking about everyone he lost in the short years of his life and, not for the first time, wondered if things would have been better if he hadn't been the one forced to carry the burden of the entire world.

"But it ends here," he said in a clear, strong voice. "I don't want to be alone anymore and I don't want to miss everyone. It hurts too much. I can't take it." He looked down at the knife. "I want to be with you again."

"I know you probably wouldn't like what I'm going to do, but I need you to know that this is the only way. I can't live like this anymore," he whispered. "I killed a man and that isn't something I'm prepared to live with. Please, understand that. This is all for the best."

He let the knife trace over his wrist, breaking the skin and slowly letting the blood flow out of the cut, down his hands and then drop to the ground. A small smile spread across his lips as he lay down on top of the grave.

"We'll be together again Sirius," he whispered as his eyes closed, his voice stammering from the hard intake of breath, "and this time you won't be able to leave me."

The rain fell down on the graveyard, washing away the blood and the tears from the still form of The-Boy-Who-Lived.

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